


If You Were Gay...

by Camfield



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rating: NC17<br/>Verse: G1<br/>Characters: Spike, Raoul, Carly<br/>Pairing (optional): Raoul/Spike<br/>Warnings: None<br/>Summary: Getting to know yourself is an awfully hard thing to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Were Gay...

Spike walked hesitantly into the club, Shakira’s She Wolf playing loud over the speakers. His leather pants were tight; a present from Carly, and his shirt was tighter, courtesy of. Walking in, he could feel the bass thrumming through the floor, vibrating through his body as he stepped through the mass of bodies. It was calming, or perhaps it was invigorating, Spike wasn’t sure yet.

But it was his first time, and he was trying to find a way not to stick out like the straight guy he’d once thought he was.

A move over to the bar and he ordered something heavy in alcohol and fruity, almost giddy with relief that his friends weren’t here to nag him about manly drinks. Getting drunk from a beer was pitiful. Getting drunk from a long beach was tolerable. 

Spike wasn’t pitiful. He wasn’t.

His eyes roved over the crowd, drinking in the mass of male bodies pressed tightly together on the dance floor. Someone would dance with him, he was sure about it. He just needed to finish his drink and move over there.

To where the rest of the men were.

Instead of being here. Alone. With a fruity drink.

He sucked it down, leaving the bar with a heavy feeling in his chest. Honestly he wasn’t even sure why he was here; it wasn’t like he knew what he was doing anyway. All these guys looked comfortable, hell; the ones dry humping over there looked MORE than comfortable. He, was not comfortable. Hadn’t been comfortable since he and Carly had embarrassingly discovered that he was, in fact, gay as Elton John.

During a ruined bout of sex, no less.

Carly had gotten them to the bed, and naked, before she realized that something was wrong. Mainly that Spike was limp as a wet noodle and red as a tomato, his fingers doing something uncomfortable inside her as she’d tried to coax him to readiness.

It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that whatever was wrong; nothing they were doing was helping. She’d gotten back dressed, tossed Spike his clothing, and moved out to the living room to think.

Spike had stayed in the bedroom all night. Mortification warring with his need to see if Carly was alright. It was early morning when he finally shuffled out, shamefaced and looking nearly ready to cry. Carly had taken one look at him and gathered him into her arms, shushing him as he just whispered “I’m sorry, so sorry.” into her hair.

Still, it turned out to be a good, or at least not a bad, thing. She became his sounding board, his best friend, someone who he knew he could go to with anything and not feel like he was being judged based on his orientation.

Lord knows she still judged him on being an idiot male, but he figured that was a girl thing.

She’d even convinced him to come out to this bar, said that it would be good for him to see it, even if he didn’t do anything but watch.

Well, he was watching.

And drooling.

And possibly getting a little hard in the pants.

Shaking his head, he looked around, trying to decide if he was just going to go home or if he had the balls to stick it out a little longer when he heard a low whistle.

“Dios Madre. You must be new here; I haven’t seen you around before.”

Which was why Carly had sent him to New York City in the first place, no one to recognize or remember him.

He turned, a teen his age standing much too close for his newfound comfort. He had dark brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail, and was dressed in the tightest pants Spike had ever seen.

Ohh... he really should look away from the pants.

Right, the pants.

The boy laughed, catching Spike’s hand and dragging him to the dance floor, spinning him around and pulling them flush back to front. Spike went ridged at the contact, his hands shaking as they were grasped and pulled to splay flat against denim covered hips before brown ones came around him. One cupping his hip, the other flat against his chest, and rocked forward with the music, pushing and pulling him, guiding his hips with smooth pressure and a delicious wiggle that had Spike’s breath coming in heavy draughts.

It was everything he’d been missing and hadn’t known about. 

It was amazing.

The bass thumped through him, his body relaxing into the one behind him. Movements getting smoother and fuller, a push from behind, a push to the back. The alcohol in his system flooding him with dirty whispers and lowered inhibitions until Spike didn’t feel anything but light and amazing.

He was hard, hands moving to grab the boy’s ass and pull him in tighter. Press them so close that Spike could feel an equally hard dick rubbing down the middle of his own behind with each rocking thrust. His head dropped back onto a bare shoulder and he turned in, tongue slithering out to lick over a sweat glossed neck, lathing over the bobbing Adam’s apple until the hand on his hip tightened, then moved to press over the crotch of his pants, thumb rubbing circles in the leather covered bulge.

Spike groaned into his dance partner’s neck, turning to press them front to front before diving into a fierce kiss. His brain was blank, the music abusing his senses and filling him with desires he’d never known he’d had until recently. The dirty words of the lyrics crooning sex and debauchery as they moved together on the dance floor, hips rolling against each other in a tantalizing mess of pleasure. Legs interlocked between thighs that provided the perfect surface to grind against as Spike clutched the body closer, trying for as much touch, as much connection, as possible.

“Ay, let’s get out of here Carino. Your place or mine?”

It took Spike a moment for the words to break through the haze he was floating in. 

“I have a hotel room?”

He said it as if it was a question, but he couldn’t concentrate. Not with the boy’s brown skin so deliciously close. They just needed to get out of here; Bumblebee would take them back to his hotel. He pulled the boy’s hand and they stumbled through the crowd, nearly tripping over his own feet as he was slammed against the wall. A laugh turned moan erupted when a scorching hot mouth attached to the junction of neck and jaw, sucking on the pulse point so hard that Spike knew he’d have a mark in the morning. His hands spasmed on the boy’s shoulders and shudders ran through his body, head to toe, before he wrenched himself away. Hand clutching a brown wrist as he half ran, half fell, to where Bumblebee was parked. The doors unlocking even as Spike forced himself into the driver’s seat, willing himself not to touch.

His partner didn’t seem to have that issue.

Hands groped across him, flirting and teasing with each and caress. Spike yelped when fingers pinched a nipple, the only thing keeping him from jerking the car across the road the fact that the car was actually driving itself. 

It was a short trip to the hotel, also by Carly’s design, but it felt much, much longer. He was shaking when they pulled in, so much that when he got out of the beetle he had to brace himself for a moment, ‘Bee nudging him with a tire in a silent question.

Spike drug his hands down the window, feeling the minibot shift a fraction on his wheels, before patting the roof. His eyes watching greedily as the other boy got out and stretched. His lean body displayed in a calculated way, his brown eyes catching Spike’s as he motioned to the line of room doors.

He patted the roof again and fumbled with his key card to let them in, his nervousness coming back as the effects of the alcohol wore off. 

The room wasn’t high end, but it was clean and had a decent bed, all Carly had said he really needed anyway. She’d packed him a ‘goodie bag’ with instructions to keep it in the bedside drawer, and he’d followed everything to the letter, even the embarrassing bout with the enema earlier, face burning as he remembered the scene.

A second after the door closed he was pulled to sprawl over the bed, over the boy’s sweat fragrant skin and he stiffened when their crotches pressed flush to each other, clothes uncomfortably tight. A hand smoothed his hair back.

“Something wrong Carino?”

Spike looked at the boy, those confident brown eyes looking back, and shook his head, a self-deprecating smile making its way onto his face.

“Nothing. My name is Spike.”

A chuckle and he was drawn back in, their mouths fitting together in perfect tandem movements. Long and slow, tongues mapping out every inch as the pace went from frantic to something slow burning and long lived. A hand snaking between them to trace the definition of his abs with fingertips.

“Raoul. Nice to meet you.”

They laughed, Spike rolling them over and hooking a leg around Raoul’s hips, rolling his own up and letting a breathy noise loose at the contact. His shirt was too tight, and he grabbed the hem to pull it off, throwing it aside to land on the floor. He pressed toe to heel and kicked off his shoes, gasping as a kiss was pressed to his navel before the button to his pants was undone. Lifting his hips as both leather and cotton brief was pulled down and discarded, one sock stubbornly staying on even when the other followed his pants. Erection bobbing comfortably free, no longer trapped in the tight space it had been.

The heat of his partner’s body left for a moment, Spike rising up on elbows to watch as he undressed. The sinuous movements sending bolts of arousal deep in his groin, spiking as he realized that the other boy had gone commando under his jeans.

A cheeky grin and Raoul climbed to fit himself between white legs, catching Spike’s painfully flushed erection and pressing it against his own, hand stroking them together between them.

Spike arched, mouth wide. He’d never thought another person’s touch could be so much different than his own, so much more powerful, like everything was extra sensitive and the sensations coursed through him in waves that matched Raoul’s movements.

“Please!”

He babbled, begging for what he wasn’t sure, but more. Something, anything to relieve the pressure and at the same time he wanted nothing more than for this to never stop. He heard the bedside drawer open and then there were warm, oiled fingers stroking his thighs. Cradling his balls as one finger breached him, spreading the oil and working the muscle. Spike tensed, but a gentle squeeze of his balls took his attention elsewhere, wet heat breathing just over the head of his dick, teasing with each exhalation.

A second finger and they scissored, the warm oil slippery and strange feeling against his insides. The feeling of needing to bear down against the fingers a constant struggle to keep from actually happening as they stroked and stretched, a third pressing in and adding to the mix.

Raoul knew what he was doing. Every time Spike would start to become overwhelmed with the stretching he would turn the attention elsewhere with a lick or touch, soft squeeze or nip. Everything coalescing in a pit of molten metal low in his belly, Spike’s head thrown back, hands clutching at the blankets.

The fingers disappeared and he felt a pillow maneuvered underneath his ass, the blunt head of Raoul’s dick just pressing against his newly stretched opening. His hand holding them even as he pressed forward slowly, Spike hissing and reaching for the other boy for something solid to hold on to. He tensed, the other slowed. He relaxed, the other moved forward.

Finally they were connected, forehead to forehead and groin to ass, both breathing heavily in the thick air. A shift and Spike tensed again, a little panic breaking through, bearing down on Raoul, eyes scrunching shut.

“Espera! Please! Por favor! Calm down Spike, Dios!”

Spike tried, tilting his hips up and letting his legs splay, trying to breathe through the sensation of being penetrated for the first time. There wasn’t any pain, Raoul had been thorough when stretching him, but the sensation of something where it really wasn’t supposed to go was so unfamiliar. Strange and uncomfortable and-

Suddenly he felt his head grasped and opened his eyes, gasping as he saw Raoul right there, holding him, breathing with him. Whispered words against his mouth to calm, breathe, relax. Just feel, don’t think.

Slowly, he did, muscles smoothing out, stomach unclenching and body adjusting. Each little movement going from uncomfortable to sending tiny zings of pleasure from where they were connected, and his flagging erection pulsing back to full height as he grew more and more comfortable with the feeling. Rocking unconsciously against Raoul, breathy pants and soft humming escaping him, eyelids fluttering when a slow glide left him empty, only to be filled again and again. Slick skin rubbing and touching and his legs jumped around trying to find a good position.

A hand left his face and stroked from waist to knee, pulling it up to hook over Raoul’s hip and he moved the other one, locking ankles and tentatively pressing the other boy’s ass with his heels, groaning as the thrusts became stronger, deeper.

He wrapped his arms around Raoul, their mouths locking together, and he gripped, nails digging crescent moons into the sweat slick brown skin. The slow movement getting faster, thrusts harder until Spike felt as if he was being torn in half in the best way possible. His knees over Raoul’s shoulders, erection trapped between them to rub against their moving bodies, balls smacking him with each thrust and it felt so much better than his own fumbling attempts to masturbate. He could feel Raoul’s pulse through his dick, could feel the sticky slick hands that held him still for never ending kisses. Could feel blinding white pleasure every time Raoul hit his prostate and it was all too overwhelming and not enough and lord PLEASE don’t stop.

Spike didn’t even realize he was coming until he felt his body uncurl and heard himself wail in release. Tightening to the point of almost pain and he heard Raoul grunt from the pressure, forcing himself back in even as Spike couldn’t breathe. His abdominal muscles held tight as waves of pleasure blanketed him and he swore he whited out for a second.

It was when he was finally done, breathing in deep draughts of air and feeling Raoul’s own release coating his insides that he realized a few very important things.

One.

Two sets of very blue eyes, no, wait, optics, were looking at him through the window.

And Two.

Carly was sitting in Bumblebee’s arms, giving him a wink and a saucy wave. Tracks rolled his optics, but there was a cheeky grin on his faceplates.

He turned his head back and groaned, feeling a smile against his neck. Raoul pushed himself up on shaky arms to laugh, his brown eyes hazy and amused.

“Next time, I think we’re going to need a room without windows Carino.”


End file.
